


Blow Out

by Star (docfics)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder Junkrat, Canon Disabled Character, Dissociation, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, but they're still bffs, i have bpd and im ready to write it, lucio is an angel, past junkrat/roadhog of sorts, will have smut in some chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docfics/pseuds/Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People never stop to understand Junkrat. And really, he doesn't understand himself. But when one member of his team goes out of their way to seek his company, Junkrat is forced to explore feelings he's never had the courage to address on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Writing on the palms

Jamison Fawkes knew he was offbeat. 

Sure, the “knowing” came in bits and pieces, vague memories of normalcy before it fades away. Sometimes Roadhog comments about it, an offhanded grunt of disapproval at something Junkrat does, and he realizes, oh, that was odd. That was really weird. He hides behind Roadhog as if that's going to make everything better, as if the big man will make the world stop looking at him. And sometimes, Junkrat is alone and feels like a lost cause. Perched on a roof, staring blearily up at the stars, tossing an old grenade back and forth between his hands, and feeling like his life is a movie and he's a viewer. A critical one who grits their teeth and has to look away because god, the secondhand embarrassment, the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes because Junkrat's life is uncomfortable and gritty and no fun to watch. 

Just like him.

He waves these thoughts away with a giggle, a twitch of his head. They come constantly, never stay long, and always leave him confused. His solution is to yell, laugh, and tell nonsensical jokes that no one quite understands or appreciates. Every now and then someone spares a pity giggle. That's enough to motivate him to be louder. Funnier? Something.

And while the slightest, faintest amount of praise keeps Jamison afloat, feeding on people's reactions is a double edged sword. Because one odd look sends him crashing, has him covering in his face in a way people write off as a quirk and yet, yet they'll never know he's hiding from their sharp eyes and tight lipped smiles. 

He had just been getting cereal. A few weeks had passed since he had joined the ragtag group known as Overwatch, and he still felt all their eyes on him. He got that he was a criminal, but it's not like his teammates were perfect either. Shaking the box, he calms himself with the satisfying sound of the pebbles hitting the packaging. He pours it into the bowl, listening to the comforting snap, crackle, pop. No need for spoons, because they were unnecessary and unfamiliar. Really, it's great to just tilt the bowl back and drink it all up. He's too busy eating to notice the soldier walk in—and only registers that there's someone else in the room after he's put down the bowl and sees the man staring at him. Well, he assumed he was staring, with the visor always obscuring his face. Junkrat swallows, then makes the smallest of gags, clearing his throat to get a piece of cereal out of there.

The soldier is definitely disgusted now, Junkrat can tell that by the slight wrinkle of his forehead, and he shakes his head, turning to grab a few napkins. Junkrat is watching him, waiting for something. What? Casual conversation? 76 opens his mouth, and Junkrat feels his pulse quicken because conversations make his blood pump, make his head whirl--

“We have spoons.” he gestures to a drawer with one gloved hand, and Junkrat blinks. Oh. “Mmm, ha, seems kinda like an extra step I don't need t'do.” is his reply, and Jack cocks an eyebrow. Junkrat realizes his fingers are tapping anxiously at the edge of the table, and you would think that would be it, but no. Jack opens the cupboard with a little _clink_ as all the silverware shifts, and grabs a spoon. And then—he doesn't even hand it to Junkrat. He sets it on the counter, and Junkrat's mind races a mile a minute until it settles on the worst possibility. He doesn't want to touch him. And it just makes Junkrat feel a little less stable, insides twisting in and out even as he plasters a toothy grin on his face. He winks at Jack, feeling like he wants to cry, even as he responds with “Thank ya, mate.” And then Jack leaves and he stares at his cereal which suddenly looks like mush.

It always happens like this. It's the little things that are the most hurtful—reminders that he's not everyone's favorite person. He doesn't understand it, he'll kill and demolish and flat up ruin someone's life, but then he spends a few weeks with someone, forms a weird kinship with them just in his mind, and then ultimately gets hurt because no one understands how much he relies on these silly one-sided attachments. With emotions and thoughts splitting him right down the middle, hobbling off to a corner he could squeeze into—wishing with all his heart someone would see and follow him all while hating everyone in the building. He was not a loner, by any means. But god, the judgment in everyone's eyes was enough of a reason to never speak to any of his teammates ever again.

He slumps into a corner, fishing a little contraption out of his pant pocket—and he immerses himself in it, pretends it's all he wants and all he needs, fiddling with the sides and enjoying the feel of the buttons on the rough pads of his fingers. This is what calms him. This is what is a constant—wires go in their appropriate spots, buttons always detonate when you want them to—no betrayal from a finely put together bomb.  
Really, it's a perfect distraction for him. Such a good distraction, in fact, he doesn't hear the first soft, questioning tone of “Junkrat?” He does hear the second one though, and he whirls around, leg making a solid 'click' on the floor as he pulls himself up, feeling a little defensive. 

It's Lúcio. He's got concern in his eyes—not uncommon. Lúcio was the kind of guy who always asked how you were doing, and was even genuine about it. Maybe. Junkrat has a sharp, vivid memory of Lúcio laughing at something he did—but he can't specifically remember what it was. 

Lúcio takes a hesitant step towards him—and he notices Junkrat's fingers curling up, notices his lips twitching up into an uncomfortable smile—everything about the others body language is chaotic and leaves his next action unpredictable, so Lúcio decides to stop moving towards him. 

“If I'm bothering you, I'll leave. Just was a little curious why you were in a corner. But I get it—this place is kind of big, right? Sometimes you wanna go somewhere a little compact. After my shows, all I wanna do is lay on the couch in my changing room. Small, air-conditioned—you know.” Lúcio waves a hand nonchalantly in the air, although he kept the movement slow and tight to his body, not wanting to startle the man standing across from him.

Junkrat took in what Lúcio was saying. Casual conversation, obviously making an effort to relate to Junkrat...or was it to pity him? Junkrat felt sick, cornered, vulnerable, but he really was not keen on showing that. Shifting his weight to his good leg, he began to fiddle with the unfinished detonator in his hand, all while keeping his gaze directly on Lúcio. Direct eye contact was what you did when you weren't afraid, right? Lúcio gazed right back, and Junkrat felt like he was losing his mind, because he just wasn't sure if those eyes were really soft or if they were just hiding something bad.

They were pretty, either way.

Lúcio hasn't said anything for a little while, and Junkrat wonders why until he realizes that oh, he hasn't replied—and this realization causes him to let out bark of laughter. Lúcio doesn't flinch, just gives him a little grin, patient for a reply. Junkrat lets his laugh taper off into a giggle while his mind tries to recall what they were talking about—and he can't remember. So he just brings up another subject. Take it or leave it, he challenges Lúcio, and then immediately chastises himself for the weird, silent challenge.

“Y'know, does it ever occur to ya how different our legs are? You got those fancy skates, and I got—this.” he brings up his leg, shaking it a little for emphasis. “S'peg, but I can follow ya pretty well into battle, y'know? Plus, I made it myself. No fancy models for me. Even if they are pretty ace.” Junkrat swings his leg back and forth again, just to make his point, before he touches his arm, deciding to also comment on that. “M'arms the best though. But you got the fleshy bits, so no comparison—and no losing your arm just to try and show me up, yeah?” he grins at Lúcio, who grinned back, recovering easily from the sudden change in topic.

“I mean, I have a regular pair too. You've seen me wear them, probably.” Junkrat can't remember, but if Lúcio says its true, maybe he can believe him. “I just like rolling around in these once in a while. It's got a different feel, kind of smooth. And sometimes I do little races with everyone around here.” he chuckles, and Junkrat watches how his mouth moves, takes in how white his teeth are. He only stops staring when the laughter stops and he realizes he's supposed to continue the conversation—but that's hard, and he's still recovering from the turmoil from earlier. So all Lúcio gets is a shrug and a little mutter of “Never skated before” and then he decides he should leave, before he completely forgets how to talk. He starts to move, and Lúcio moves to the side so he can slip past him—but before he starts making his grand escape, Lúcio lets out a little “wait!”

Junkrat pauses, fingers squeezing on the detonator—then turns around, a little tilt to his head. “..Yeh?” he questions, and Lúcio gives him a very curious look that Junkrat can't quite decipher at the moment.  
“I just thought—it's been a long week, you know? Everyone wants to train, and I know we have a lot coming up, but—between this and trying to keep my fans happy, I dunno. Not to sound selfish, but I'm tired, man!” Lúcio throws his hands up a little, giving Junkrat a sheepish grin. “And you seem like a good guy to slack off a little with—do you want to, I dunno, grab a bite to eat tonight? If not it's cool but--” whatever else he's going to say gets lost in Junkrat's mind.

Okay, he thinks. He can decline, and then probably never get another chance to spend time with Lúcio again. Or he can go and then things will either become more miserable or, maybe, a small part of his brain says, will go wonderfully. And suddenly, Junkrat realizes that Lúcio hasn't said a single negative thing about him, no jokes about Junkrat blowing up the restaurant...nothing.

And that's why he gives Lúcio a toothy grin, and the reply of “What time?” And he thinks back on this later—that Lúcio somehow knew his head was in a rut and he would never remember a time—but Lúcio pulls a marker out of his pocket and asks for Junkrat's hand. The rest is a little blurry—he remembers soft, slightly calloused palms, and then a kind “See you in a bit” and then he's walking to his room, gazing at the “6.pm—Tina's Pizza” on his palm.

When Junkrat sits on the bed on his room, he can still vividly remember the spoon incident—but it suddenly feels all small and stupid. Well—okay, not stupid. Maybe stupid. He doesn't know how to validate himself, really. But the point was it seemed very obsolete compared to the looming task in front of him.

Yes, Junkrat had bounties on his head, yes, Junkrat has taken hostages, blown up buildings, stolen some of the most important artifacts in the world—but goddamn it, he was going out for pizza with a very interesting, perhaps legitimately _kind_ teammate of his.

And it just might be the most daunting task Junkrat, Jamison Fawkes, had ever taken on.


	2. Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat eats pizza and has an internal crisis.

It was 5:49pm and Jamison Fawkes was still laying in bed.

If he left now, he could still arrive relatively on time and call it Fashionably Late. Junkrat slumped over the side of the bed. Blood rushing to his brain and making no effort to move, he thought about anything but the pizza place. If he thought about it too long, he would think over everything that could go wrong... Like blowing up the side of the pizza place to make a grand escape-- shit, he was really thinking about pizza now 

He couldn't help but let out a wheezing laugh, rolling off his bed with a thump and laying on the floor, wheezing turning into full out laughter. It was so ridiculous—leave it to Jamison Fawkes to over think a trip to the pizza parlor. He and Roadhog had gone to plenty—but then again, Roadhog was his best friend and knew everything about him. Really, everything. Junkrat winced at the thought, slowly flipping himself over and pulling himself upright. Yeah, no need to let his brain travel into that territory. It was dangerous.

For a second, he forgot exactly what he was doing. Floor...on the floor, getting up—pizza. Yes. Did he wear a shirt? No, shirts would just get in the way, because if you drop pizza on yourself, it's easier to wipe up a stain off your bare chest than a shirt. But maybe Lúcio would appreciate if he wore a shirt. He slumped over to the closet, rifling through and pulling out a crop top that smelled _ok_. It just had the words “Las Vegas” on it, nothing dirty, so he tossed it on and decided that was good enough.

So that was it. He had taken off his tire earlier and left it propped up against the wall of his room. Of course he wasn't unarmed—he had a few mines tucked away in his pockets, and around his belt were several bombs, smiley faces sloppily painted on them. A civilian most likely would not recognize what they were—they looked like tacky accessories. But he felt safe enough with these few things, and decided that if things took a turn for the worst, he was unarmed. Not that his own teammate would attack him. Probably. Hopefully.

Jamie rolled his shoulders, gave his neck a good crack, and—stopped short when he heard the knock on his door. Curious, he strode over and swung it open—only to come face to face with Lúcio. Confused, he looked down at the small man (really small, Junkrat realized, he was a good foot taller than Lúcio) and tilted his head in a question, a confused grin splaying out on his face. “Watcha doing here, mate? Thought you would be at the pizza place already.”

Lúcio chuckled at that, and Jamie wasn't quite sure why, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. “I probably didn't make it clear, sorry,” Lúcio apologized, “but I wanted to walk there with you. Hope that's okay?” he gave Junkrat what could only be described as a peaceful smile, like this was something they did everyday. And Junkrat was aware he wasn't saying anything, just staring dumbly at Lúcio, mind blown at how easily this kind of thing came to Lúcio. The other man didn't seem to have any internal conflict going on—no, he seemed quite sure of what he said, what he did. Junkrat felt envious and in awe all at once.

“..Yeah! Yeah, sure mate. Was just heading out, actually. Well, was getting ready t' head out, you know how it goes. Getting ready and all that. Gotta make sure I look me best.” he gestured to his half-bare chest, knowing full well he basically looked the same as always. But Lúcio grinned even wider at that, and the followup of “You look good, Junkrat” made something inside Junkrat burst into flames. So nice. He was so nice. Really genuinely nice? And he really appreciated how Lúcio was looking at his chest like that too--

Wait, like what? Junkrat blinked, and when his eyes opened Lúcio was just gazing at him. Okay, maybe just his imagination. He gave a little twitch, and decided to get out of his room, closing the door behind him and snaking around Lúcio. No time to ponder on that or he would be lost in thought for a solid half a hour. And now that Lúcio was here, he actually was starting to feel antsy from hunger. “Well—well, you go ahead! You lead the way, cap'n!” A little salute at Lúcio, another smile earned from Lúcio—another little flip flop of his insides. “You really haven't been there before? The pizza is great.” Lúcio said, turning and gesturing for Junkrat to follow him. “You're gonna love it.”

Junkrat believed him.

They made their way out of the base, Junkrat pointing out any little thing he saw and making some joke, some comment about it. It was his way to fill the silence—and he had to admit, Lúcio was a good listener. At least, he hoped he was listening. He felt his stomach drop slightly at the idea that maybe he was being judged, distracting himself from the horrid thought by jabbing his finger at a nearby tree. “  
Y'know, I blew up a whole tree once. Shards were flyin' everywhere, and one got me—right on my thigh. Y'can't see the scar, but it's right here!” he jabbed at a spot on his thigh through his pants, and Lúcio looked slightly concerned, if not amused.

“Why didja blow up a tree?” he questioned, and Junkrat thought about it. Was there a reason? No. “Jus' wanted to cus I could.” he shrugged. “Tree was there, and I was bored! Don't worry, though. No one but me got hurt.” Something he had deciphered from Lúcio;s role on the team was that he wasn't even close to as violent as some of the other people on this team. Oh, he could fight. Junkrat had seen him out of the corner of his, finger pressed tightly on his equipment, blasting out a soundwave that could knock someone flat on their ass. But he wasn't like Junkrat, Roadhog, some of the others—he didn't shoot and slice and well, he probably had never killed. Kind of a weird thought.

Lúcio still seemed concerned, but he just shook his head with a little smile. “I have a feeling there's a lot of other stories like that, huh? I never blew up a tree, but..and listen, you can't tell anyone this! I gotta keep up my rep as quick on my feet!” he waved a finger threateningly at Junkrat, who threw his arms up in mock fear. “Watch where yer pointin' that, mate! Secrets safe with me. I'll take it to my grave, cross me heart and hope to die!” he made the little “X” across his chest, then for added effect, a little lip zip. 

This seemed to sate Lúcio, who responded with a grave nod before continuing his story. “So..when I first was learning to skate, I was bad at it. I mean, really bad. Four wheels and all. But there was one day I was getting better, and I got kinda bold. You know, you're a kid, and you think you're suddenly on top of the world...so I get to a hill. A tall, rocky, bumpy hill. And I push myself off and..” Lúcio shakes his head, disappointed with his child self. “I fall right down. I just kind of skate through the gravel. With my face—hey, are you laughing?!” Junkrat was—he couldn't help it. It sounded so much like something he would have done. He was wheezing, bending over and clutching the top of his knees. Lúcio let out a little huff, although he was trying to hold back a smile. “You are so laughing at me! I could have totally been hurt!” Junkrat lets out another little wheeze, choking out “But yer fine--!” and Lúcio plants one hand on his hip, mock anger on his face. “The point of that story was that I did get a scar! Right here!” he moves a stray dread behind his ear, showing a faded scar that curved right beneath his ear.

Junkrat immediately felt the urge to reach out and touch it. But the tiny, hoarse little voice in his head that Roadhog had called his “worn out common sense” was saying no, no. Do not touch people's scars, even if just a gentle touch can tell you so much about them. Plus, Lúcio had just told him the story, so he would have to be satisfied with that. “Okay, yer still fine, but that's kind of a kickass scar. Like a little tattoo.” Lúcio let out a good--natured scoff, letting his dreads fall back over the interesting marking and his ear. Junkrat kind of felt like he just had something taken from him. “God, I'm so antsy. I haven't been out except to do guard rounds. Hey, I'll race you to the pizza place.” Lúcio suddenly grinned. “Prosthetic to prosthetic.” Junkrat cocked an eyebrow at him, planting a hand on his hip. “I've seen you skate around. I ain't taken the chance to get all dusty!” A pause. A giggle. “Well, dustier. You know what I mean!”

“Oh, come on! I'm not even wearing my skates. Please?” Lúcio bats his eyelashes at Junkrat, and even though it's supposed to be a mockery of an actual beg, Junkrat's stomach does a weird little flip. He opens his mouth, clamps it shut, then opens it again. “Bloody—okay! Okay! But we start on my count—which is now GO!” And with that impulsive decision, Junkrat has pushed himself forward easily and hobbling off as quick as he can go. Lúcio is startled for a couple of seconds, then lets out a whoop and takes off, sneakers slapping on the dirt path as he chases Junkrat down.

To Junkrat's credit, he can run pretty fast. It's an awkward hobble, but he's used to picking up the pace when needed. After all, his life has consisted mostly of outrunning people and his own explosions, something that motivates even a scrawny, peg-legged guy like him to get moving. However, Lúcio also is a quick, fit guy—good stamina, long legs that go up quite a ways and _jesus jamie take it down a notch._ He's startled out of his internal scolding by the sudden pounding of Lúcio's feet behind him, both of them turning the corner—Junkrat almost tipping over with a loud bark of laughter at the sudden change of directions. Lúcio skids to a stop—and it takes Junkrat a moment to realize he was checking on him. Oh, god. What in the world is going on? He regains his balance, though, and Lúcio is off again. They both reach the pizza place in good time, but Lúcio was a solid several yards ahead of him, leaning over in front of the store and dabbing his face with his shirt. Junkrat doesn't look too closely at him, instead collapsing onto his backside and inhaling loudly. “Holy _dooly_ you run like—well, there's a lot of animals I could compare ya to, most of them Australian.” 

Lúcio chuckles and lets out a soft _phew_ as he holds a hand out for Junkrat. “I ran a lot as a kid. But hey, you did a pretty good job keeping up with me. You really can follow me pretty well.” Junkrat took the hand, tilting his head in confusion. “How do ya know that? Do you watch me while we fight?” Lúcio looks a little startled, then shakes his head. “Well, I mean—yes but—you said that earlier today, remember?”

No. He didn't. “I don't remember half the shit I say, mate.” Junkrat says, a blunt way of dumbing down his actual memory issues. “S'all fine though.” Not really, but Lúcio didn't need to know that sometimes he had to ask Roadhog what year it was. “I do like this 'ole leg of mine though, and see how well it holds up? Damn little beaut', this leg of mine is.” he pats the side, a quiet giggle escaping his mouth as it creaks in agreement. Lúcio smiles a little, looking like he's about to say something, but he changes his mind, turning and gesturing to the door of the pizza place. “Losers first.” he teases. Junkrat sticks his lip out at him, muttering “I swear I'll eat all the pizza right out from under yer mug.” but there's no actual menace in his voice, and the left corner of his mouth keeps twitching into a little grin. 

He strides in, looking at the menu, squinting. As usual, the words all kind of blend together for him. He was gonna have to ask Roadhog if maybe they could do a few more of those smarty-pants lessons, the reading and all that nonsense. Luckily, he can just glance down and there's plenty of pizzas laid out on trays before him. So many choices, and when the cashier suddenly makes a “ahem” noise he realizes he's been zoning out staring at them. His head darts up, and his grin must be unnerving, because the cashier instantly looks like he regrets making that noise.

“Okay so, I can't decide so just toss a buncha shit onto mine, but make sure it's pepperoni, yeah? Lots of it. Oh, and maybe some of those lil fishies too.” he's about to turn and walk to his seat, then he remembers. “Oh yeh. Guess I gotta pay here.” he hears Lúcio make a little noise of shock behind him, and he tries to feel bad but he can't. That's just how him and Roadhog have always lived. But just so he doesn't get him and Lúcio banned from this pizza place (he's already been banned from 47) he pulls out a dusty, mostly-black bill and pushes it over the counter. The cashier is just looking so unhappy with his current situation now, and Junkrat can't decide if he wants to laugh or just to sink into the floor. “Just—keep the change.” he mutters, one eye twitching a little with the weight of doing _normal things with a normal friend._ He wonders what Lúcio is thinking of him right now. Uh oh. Feeling unsettled, he heads to a seat in the back of the store and settles down, leaning on the table and watching as Lúcio puts his order in.

A few minutes tick by—Lúcio must be waiting for something—and then the man walks over with two plates, holding a pizza with green peppers and sausage and then Junkrat's pepperoni, anchovies and everything pizza. “I got 'em both. I figured you didn't want to head back up there—kind of not your everyday purchase, I'm guessing?” Junkrat glances up at him, trying to see if Lúcio is agitated at the realization that bill-to-register transactions aren't a normal thing for Junkrat, but his expression is just kind of neutral. His eyes are still soft, and Junkrat feels conflicted about it all. He's trying not to think of the possibility that Lúcio is just faking being this nice—he's not going to lie, the little race had his hopes up that maybe this all was just a blossoming friendship. His stomach felt warm again.

“Well, no—okay look, I don't really feel bad about it, okay?” he took the pizza, pulling an anchovy off and looking into its dried little eyes. The neutral look had him suddenly feeling like he had to defend himself, for acceptance? Judgment? Something besides neutral. “I mean, all this doing good shit and all is new to me. Like, goin' legit. Bein' a good guy.” he takes a bite of his pizza and since his train of thought is going, he doesn't stop talking. Luckily, he doesn't spit anything. He thinks. “Me and Hog just always were trying to get by, but I guess we've done some stuff you probably hate, y'know? It's all normal for me but yeah, you probably never did nothin' bad. You're a good guy.” He realizes he's kind of saying a little too much of what's in his head now, and immediately shuts up, focusing on grabbing a piece of stray cheese and pulling it into his mouth. Lúcio doesn't say anything, just taking a bite of his pizza, and Junkrat decides this is where Lúcio will chew, swallow, then excuse himself and walk right out of this parlor. And Junkrat's life. His insides are tied in knots, and to fill the silence, he laughs. At nothing.

Yeah, the door is right over there, Lúcio.

However, Lúcio swallows and then shrugs a little. “We've all done shit. At least you're here now, right? I don't know your story. Can I have one of your anchovies?” Junkrat is currently processing what the man across from him has said, and just gives Lúcio a small nod. No one has ever given Junkrat—what's that phrase? The benefit of the doubt? Yeah. The only one who has ever seen his side of things is Roadhog, and that's because he literally has been by Junkrat's side for _years._ And Lúcio has barely known Junkrat for a month.

Was that the kind of person Lúcio was? When Junkrat had first heard Lúcio chatting to some of his other teammate's about equality and social change. Junkrat just kind of scoffed it off because he's heard that kind of thing before from suits, and someone with Lúcio's amount of fame could never be actually _genuine._ However, after pondering over that thought for a solid three hours, he had sought Lúcio out—yes! That's right, the memory was flooding back now, the one he had struggled earlier today to remember.

He glances up to see Lúcio gazing right at him—and their eyes meet and Junkrat can't find the courage to look away. “..Y'know, I thought you were just' another suit.” Lúcio cocks an eyebrow at the implication, but stays quiet, giving Junkrat his full attention. “Cus sometimes they say all that good stuff and then they're just lyin'. But do you remember, I saw ya--” he imitates Lúcio's headbanging, which Lúcio can't help but chuckle at, because Junkrat does it to no imaginable beat, and his singed hair flops over his forehead while he does it. Junkrat grins just a little before continuing. “And I asked, wotcha listen to? And you jus' held out an earphone and—your music!” Junkrat slung out a hand, luckily not splattering anything but the table with pizza grease. “I got it! Ya really meant all that stuff! And I uh--” Was really enjoying that moment. Junkrat decides to stuff pizza into his mouth, feeling vulnerable as he finished the story with a muffled “I—you were called off. But I liked the song. I knew ya were legit then.” 

Lúcio gazed at him and the seconds of silence were agonizing—and then his expression melted into the softest smile, the most understanding eyes. Junkrat felt the pizza slide out of his mouth, a half-bitten pepperoni slice hanging from one of his canines. He doesn't really care that he probably looks like a complete idiot, he's just captivated by Lúcio's smile. Lúcio's face. Junkrat isn't a poet, but it's like a sunset or some shit like that.

It's not like he's never thought Lúcio was pretty. And heck, maybe once or twice he's checked him out. After the moment with his song, Junkrat sometimes snuck looks over at Lúcio to see his laugh. Every now and then, he manages to shuffle close to Lúcio during battle, feeling the soothing healing music and feeling the heat of Lúcio's body radiating next to him. Junkrat felt a little heat rise to his ears as he realized maybe it's been a _little_ more than once or twice that he's snuck a peek at Lúcio from the corner of his eye.

Why? There's probably a million reasons, but the first thing Junkrat can think of is that he's kind of messed up and the fact he shared one shockingly profound moment with Lúcio means that he's formed one of those weird attachments he has to people. Which is amazing, because it means he's got a new friend. And yet it's also horrifying, because it means that eventually he's going to do something so weird, so typical “Junkrat fashion” that Lúcio will never talk to him again. This entire ordeal of creating relationships with people was so intense, Junkrat swore he stopped breathing for a second.

Oh, Lúcio was talking.

“--Junkrat? Do you hear me?” Lúcio is waving an anchovy in his face to get his attention, and out of impulse, Junkrat leans over and just snaps the anchovy right out of Lúcio's hand, eyes wide as he chews and swallows. He grins widely as his foot starts kicking rapidly under the table, unsure what exactly is going on with him right now. “I do now, mate.” Lúcio looks at his hand where the fish once was, and then just leans onto his now empty hand, taking a bite out of his pizza and swallowing before repeating himself. “I was saying that..means a lot to me. That you gave me a second chance. I'm sure that must have been hard for you.” Another genuine smile and Junkrat feels his shoulders relax and his foot slow down, just a little. “And that's what I was sayin', you know? I don't know all you've done and all that you will do, but hey. We're here now, enjoyin' some pizza. So let's relax..if you want?”

He would like that, very much. And Lúcio seemed to know just what to say to make him be able to. He grins, all teeth and giggles with an enthusiastic nod. With that, the mood lightens a bit—and as they continue to eat, the conversation takes a less serious turn. A bit of chatter about their upcoming mission, Junkrat recalling a funny story about how he had a bee inside his pants for two hours and didn't notice—and Lúcio, in return, telling him how he snuck a frog into school every day for two straight weeks when he was in seventh grade. That had genuinely impressed Junkrat. “You gotta teach me how to be that sneaky, mate. I think when I'm around animals, my loudness rubs off on 'em! Always hissin' and croakin' and screechin' and purrin'--every noise you can imagine! Always wanted a pet, but 'Hog says a pet isn't a good match for our lifestyle. Even a piggie, tho' I can tell that was hard for him to say.” Lúcio chuckles, eating the last piece of his crust and wiping his fingers off on a napkin. “My phone doesn't have a lot of battery left, but remind me later and I'll show you the reptiles I got back home. I think you'll like them! Especially my little frogs—I have three. Been thinking about getting another, but I feel bad because they're always home alone..” he grins a little sheepishly. “I did hire someone to take care of them. A little pricey, but if I'm gonna spend money, it's gonna be on my babies. You feel me?”

Junkrat thought, and yes, he did. He has a rather oddly sharp memory of finding a very interesting bug back in Junkertown and keeping it for weeks and weeks until it finally passed. Every day he managed to scrounge up enough grass from the dying wasteland to give that bug a proper feast. Sometimes he found food scraps the bug liked. It had been treated like a king, that bug, and Junkrat had almost died once from his back being turned while he played with the bug. So yes, he did understand. He told Lúcio this and was, as usual, pleased by Lúcio's laugh. “That's cute.” Lúcio says, and Junkrat wants to scream in delight. 

Instead, he just giggles as he stares down at his plate, fiddling with the ends and folding them until the plate is a ball. Lúcio seems to take this as general antsiness since they both finished their meals. “Want to get going?” he offers, and Junkrat nods. His leg is starting to kick again, and he could go for a good stretch. He does that as he stands up, reaching his arms up and cracking his back. He turns his head to say something and witnesses, he _swears_ , Lúcio turning away from looking at his chest. Again.

He couldn't have imagined it twice, right?

Either way, Lúcio had grabbed both their plates and dumps them into the trash, and he walks out, Junkrat hobbling after him. As they exit, he waggles his hands in an over exaggerated wave at the poor cashier, who just stares. The air outside is a little cooler than before and Junkrat inhales, feeling rather satisfied from the delicious meal residing in his stomach. The way back home is peppered with casual conversation, a slight jab at how Lúcio would win if they raced home again. They had ended up sitting on a wall about five minutes from the base and just talking about nothing in particular, and Junkrat felt himself getting caught up in everything Lúcio said, his leg staying still because he was just too captivated by this man said to even feel anxious. And soon, the light of the day faded and it became dark, and quite cold. Lúcio shivered, his breath coming out in a small cloud. “We should probably get inside.” Junkrat doesn't want to go, he could stay out here all night, but he nods. “Don't want you turnin' into a Lúcio-pop!” he giggles, and he can see the whites of Lúcio's teeth even in the dim light.

They head inside, and then Lúcio turns to him, looking hesitant for the first time tonight. “Hey uh—can I kiss your cheek? Is that weird? I'm just kind of affectionate with my friends and had a good time tonight--” whatever else he's saying is drowned out by the roar in Junkrat's ears, the turmoil in his stomach at _can I kiss your cheek_ and the mixture of happiness and then a lack of satisfaction at _friends friends FRIENDS?!_ He wants to scream and cry and kick his feet and demand answers on why Lúcio suddenly thought they were friends, why he was graced with Lúcio's presence and yet, _why was he checking him out._ But, he just bursts into a too-wide grin and nods. “Go ahead, mate.” 

And then Lúcio leans up and kisses him right on the cheek, and it's warm and soft and Junkrat swears he will never bathe again. Not a hard task for him anyway. When Lúcio pulls away he can still feel the tingle of where his lips were, and Lúcio just ducks his head, a smile playing on his lips. “..Um, do you wanna hang out again this week? Maybe after the mission?” Junkrat is currently trying not to die from his heart going into overdrive, so it's no surprise when his answer is just a croak of “Yeh, please--!” and Lúcio looks so /pleased./ “Well, I'm gonna go get some sleep. I had a great time tonight, Junkrat..so thanks.” 

Junkrat is going to die if he doesn't get back to his room right now and scream. So he just nods, thumbs up, and turns and hobbles away. He swears he can feel Lúcio's eyes boring into his back—trying to figure him out, probably? But good luck with that, Lúcio, because Junkrat's been trying to do the same thing for years and he isn't one step closer to understanding himself.

He almost pulls his door straight off his handles as he swings it open, slamming it behind himself and collapsing on his bed. He grabs a pillow and _howls_ into it, his heart still slamming against his chest and his brain going into overdrive. Why? How? What did he do to deserve this, his easy attachments to people, the pain and delight it brings? He realizes there's hot tears stinging at his eyes, and he's so confused at his body's reaction to emotions. He swipes the tears away and starts honest to god shrieking with laughter, sinking into his bed, hoping that the turmoil that is Jamison Fawkes emotions will tire him out, and maybe he can sleep.

And maybe he'll dream of Lúcio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe how long this chapter was?? my hands are falling off
> 
> hope you guys enjoy!!!
> 
> hmu at https://twitter.com/bpdbun and talk to me about gay mercs or i also take requests @ docfics.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i haven't written in 5,000 years and i'm ready to get back into it with overwatch
> 
> this is the start of my first series!! and many more will come after this, including oneshots and minifics! i also take requests, docfics.tumblr.com  
> and if you wanna talk to me about gay mercs please hmu at https://twitter.com/bpdbun i need more overwatch friends


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